Delirium
by Sierra's Darkness
Summary: [Thief KingxMalik Ishtar] The stranger was always hungry for Malik’s lips, stealing a fierce kiss whenever he could. Calloused hands roamed across Malik’s skin, caressing in all the right places, drawing Malik up to a taunting reminder of what was real.


**Author's note: **Homg, I gotta be quick, because it's midnight here in Australia and FullMetal Alchemist is about to start. -becoming a fangirl- So, yes. Quick - but BIG - fic update, here; this was written for DawnDawn, as a Christmas present (yes, I have no concept of time whatsoever), and, as usual, is a Citronshipping fic. This pairing needs more love, damnit.

**Pairing: **Thief King Bakura x Malik Ishtar.

**Disclaimer: **No own Yuugiou.

**Warnings: **Contains lime, slash (boy-smex), language, and Malik's paranoia. But what a great mix, no? -hit-

---

**Delirium **

Malik Ishtar thought he was going insane.

… Not that he could be considered sane, at any rate, but it was nice to think of it that way, if only for a while.

Malik was convinced he was _seeing_ things; either that, or he needed to pay a visit to an optometrist. His sister had examined his eyes closely, and found nothing – she'd frowned and called Rishid in. Rishid, extremely sceptical that _Malik_ would have a problem with his eyesight, performed all kinds of visual tests on Malik, from how many fingers he was holding up, to reading a book with tiny text shoved right up in the youngest Ishtar's face.

Still, no results.

Malik sighed heavily, stepping under the warm spray of the shower, closing the door slowly behind him. The water stung his skin, albeit welcome; he tipped his head back, water flowing down his chest and between his shoulders to wash away the sweat that had gathered there during his intense dreams.

Not only was Malik _seeing_ things, he was also dreaming rather vividly about a certain person – the same person he knew was appearing before his eyes at sporadic intervals. He didn't know where or when he'd ever seen that wolfish grin before, or those electric-blue eyes. The words, "I am the darkness," breathed into his ear as the stranger pressed him against a wall sounded oddly familiar, but in order to place exactly where he'd heard them before, Malik would have to search his mind for hours – he'd seen and heard many things during his lifetime.

Malik turned the cold water up, finding he was feeling slightly heated. Must have been all the lack of sleep, he decided, running his shampoo-lathered hands through his flaxen-blonde hair. After rinsing his hair thoroughly, Malik simply stood beneath the spray of water, letting it cleanse the grimy sweat from his body. He leant against the wall of the shower, back sliding down a bit, until he glanced down at his arm; his skin was dark – almost as dark as Rishid's.

The thought of dark skin brought Malik back to the stranger of his dreams; he scowled as a flush stained his cheeks, ducking his head beneath the spray of water so no one would see him – not that anyone intruded during Malik Ishtar's showers.

The stranger's skin was a shade akin to Malik's; well-developed muscles rippled beneath that bronzed skin, an almost teasing display of what it was capable of. Malik inhaled sharply. The stranger was always hungry for Malik's lips, stealing a fierce kiss whenever he could; calloused hands roamed across Malik's skin, caressing in all the right places, drawing Malik up to a taunting reminder of what was real and what wasn't. Hips pressing against his own, a dark chuckle, and then there was—

"I need to stop drinking so much damn caffeine," Malik muttered, finally putting a stop to his wayward thoughts altogether. He tilted his head back against the shower wall, closing his eyes as he exhaled softly; not a moment later, he could have sworn he felt lips graze across his neck just lightly.

A hand flew up to Malik's neck, his lavender eyes snapping open to stare suspiciously at the remainder of the empty shower recess. Seeing nothing, he grudgingly pushed himself off the wall, reaching to turn the taps off as he went. Isis wouldn't be pleased with him if he used up all the hot water – she and Kujaku Mai seemed to like taking long baths with glasses of champagne (courtesy of Mai), and white rose petals strewn across the bathroom floor.

Malik shuddered at the thoughts that most certainly did _not_ concern him, stepping out of the shower. He tugged his towel off the rack, wrapping it around his waist and securing it with a knot. Moving toward the sink, Malik gazed at his reflection in the fogged up mirror. For a split second, he thought he saw a face next to his own, smirking devilishly, wild white hair contrasting strikingly with Malik's flaxen locks.

Before he knew it, the face was gone, and Malik was blinking at only himself once more. He hesitated. "… Weird." With that, he turned and strode out of the bathroom as swiftly as he could without the towel slipping down lower on his slender hips – the last thing he needed was for Mai to see him naked again.

Once safely inside his room, Malik immediately moved to retrieve a pair of khakis from his drawer. The upside of living with Isis and Rishid was that they bought his clothes; Isis knew exactly how she liked Malik to dress, and Rishid made sure she bought nothing too frilly or lacy – thus, why Rishid had always been Malik's right-hand man.

Malik tugged the khakis on, before he went rifling through his drawers once more; upon finding a tight, black shirt, he slipped it over his head. He ran a hand through his hair, contemplating whether or not kohl was needed. He decided against it, considering only Isis and Mai were home, Rishid working his day job as a chef.

"Isis?" Malik questioned, emerging from his room and into the hallway. He'd been on constant Mai alert ever since the time she'd walked in on him, butt-naked, posing in front of his mirror. When he received no answer from his sister, Malik deemed it safe and snuck into the kitchen. "Mm, food."

"Malik!" Isis' voice rang out from the living room; she could hear her brother's footsteps easily from the next room over. If he thought he was some kind of master super sleuth, he was seriously wrong. "Don't mess up my kitchen, or you'll be doing the dishes for a week," she called.

Malik cursed inwardly. "_Yes, _sister." Then, he began ransacking the fridge for some kind of edible food that wasn't meat (all the Ishtars were vegetarians, but Mai enjoyed the occasional hamburger).

Mai smirked, draping an arm around Isis casually. "Will you calm down? He's a _big_ boy; it's not like he's going to break anyth—" At that very moment, something loud clattered, and Mai closed her mouth.

"You were saying?" Isis shot Mai the infamous Ishtar glare, fingers splayed across her face. Her brother was such a disaster area, at times. It was a wonder he even had every appendage still attached to his body.

Mai shrugged and smirked again, prying Isis' hand away from her face. "Leave the kid alone. Like I said, he's a big boy." She leaned in, kissing Isis lightly.

In the kitchen, Malik was having some difficultly. He'd accidentally knocked a steel frying pan from its spot on the stove, and moved quickly to return it there. "What do I have to do to get some food around here?"

Unbeknownst to Malik, a shadow was flickering visibly just behind him, almost peering over his shoulder. Feeling breath against the back of his neck, Malik narrowed his eyes, spun on his heel, and—

… was met with nothing.

Malik cursed under his breath, once again eyeing the space around him warily. If the shadow-thief had come back (the last sighting had been a week or so before), then Malik wouldn't be able to concentrate. The figure had a strange habit of lingering in the shadows of a room whilst there were other people present; however, when it was just Malik staring across the room at the robed thief, he would, at times, manifest into a solid human. Malik never had a chance to ask questions, because he always simply shook his head, certain he was losing his mind, and then, the thief would be gone.

"If you're there, then you can go away. I'm hungry," Malik stated, slowly turning back to resume making a sandwich. Of course, he was going mad – he was talking to either _himself_ or a shadowed figure that most certainly didn't exist, save for in his dreams.

It was the caffeine.

Satisfied he hadn't received a response (not that he'd been expecting it), Malik's suspicions quelled and he was able to focus on _finally_ making himself something to eat.

The thief watched from the blanket of shadows coiled around him, smirking. This boy was far too foolish for his own good and, clearly, had underestimated his enemies in the past – this was to be expected, taking into account the number of run-ins with the pharaoh.

Lacking both knowledge and understanding of this modern world, as well as patience for the annoyingly attractive boy, the thief did not know what had drawn him here. Perhaps, he thought darkly as Malik continued to move about, this was merely another hand fate had dealt him, which promised no spoils of victory.

The thief had an inkling there were far greater riches to be won here than any material possession a tomb could offer. Once or twice, he'd been tempted to run his fingers through Malik's hair, to see if it were as much like spun gold as it looked - far different to his own cropped, silver hair.

"Ma—" The bothersome female's voice was cut off, hushed whispering all too easy to hear (to the thief, anyway), and Malik looked up from what he was doing, tilting his head. Then, Isis spoke again. "Malik, if you're making a mess—Mai, _stop_ that!—then I won't allow you in the kitchen for a—" And, yet again, she was interrupted, a muffled yell following immediately after.

The thief's eyes slid to Malik again, watching as the heel of his palm made contact with his forehead.

"_Women_," he muttered, hastily abandoning food he'd been preparing and walking swiftly out of the kitchen, right past where the man was hidden. The thief smirked, a hand suddenly lashing out to yank Malik back by the collar of his shirt.

Malik's yelp was muffled against a well-placed hand, heavily laden in jewels and bracelets of all kinds – for a brief instant, he knew he'd seen those wrist cuffs before. His violet eyes widened slightly, an arm coiling around his waist, lips close to his face. A chuckle was breathed into his ear, a shiver running down his spine. Malik was unable to think of anything except the need to _get away_, but it was being prevented by the secure hold on his body, and shouting for help seemed unlikely, with the hand covering his mouth and silencing his hisses.

"Speak, and I will cut your throat." The harsh whisper against his ear was enough to silence any protest, Malik's blood chilling at helplessness he was realizing he was now susceptible to. "Where is it that mortals of this era reside when they wish to retire for the night?"

Malik still couldn't see his assailant, the only evidence someone was indeed there (and not a figment of his imagination) the sharp pricks of something he could feel pressing into his back. Having a feeling he had no choice but to comply, he hastily pointed toward his room, hoping that whoever this maniac was wouldn't go after his sister, nor Mai or Rishid.

"Good," the voice purred into his ear. "You're learning quickly."

Before he could so much as think of calling for his sister, Malik was thrown over the thief's shoulder and, just as he felt the urge to yell, he snapped his mouth closed. Whoever this man was, he clearly meant business with Malik, and Malik alone. Endangering both his sister and Mai was unnecessary, so he quietened himself.

The thief smirked, shifting Malik on his shoulder; so Malik had decided to co-operate – a wise decision. He simply intended to play with his new toy, and perhaps a bit more. Perhaps. The man, deep scar and dark skin, noiselessly began walking in the direction indicated by Malik.

From where he was, slung upside down on the man's shoulder, Malik could tell he wasn't of Japanese origin. His skin was as dark as Malik's own, bronzed by long days in the blistering heat; a brief glance upward with an awkward crane of his neck granted Malik a glimpse of wild, silver hair, which was definitely not a common sight. The man was clothed in a blood-red robe, furling out behind them as he moved swiftly, a dark kilt visible beneath it; his feet were clad in golden sandals, ankles enclosed in gold cuffs, similar to the ones on his wrists.

It was only when Malik backtracked, a growl escaping him as he realized where he'd seen the scar, the hair, the eyes, the jewels before.

The thief shifted Malik roughly on his shoulder in response to the noise, indicating he was to be silent. Malik, of course, obeyed once more, covering his mouth with a hand, though he was scowling beneath it, now. Once succeeding in kicking the door to Malik's room open, the thief threw Malik on the bed without care, closing the door behind him. (What idiot had invented locks?)

Malik, now laying on his back, staring at the man halfway across the room, finally got a decent look at him, the thief's lips curling into a devilish smirk. It _was_ the stranger from his dreams, and the owner of the intense blue eyes; the puppeteer of those sensual caresses, and—

"The Sennen Ring," Malik breathed all of a sudden, violet eyes curious and accusing at the same time. "What have you done with the spirit?"

"Spirit?" Languidly moving over to the bed, smirk still in place, the thief shed his red robe, shrugging it off. It fluttered to the ground, muscles drawn into a well-toned body uncovered. "I _am_ the spirit of the Ring, foolish child."

Malik watched the display with growing curiosity; why the man was shedding Egyptian-styled clothing was beyond him, but why the Sennen Ring hung on a cord around his neck was even stranger.

"How do you possess it? The spirit's vessel is—"

"—weak," the thief finished flatly, halting just before the foot of the bed. "Forget formalities. My name is Bakura, and that is all you need to know."

Malik's eyes narrowed, and he held a hand up to silence the thief. "Wait a moment." He pushed himself up onto his elbows, having not dared move (or breathe) since 'Bakura' had tossed him onto the bed. "Just how is it that you look different, if you're the same spirit I was partnered with in—"

Bakura interjected sharply, "None of that matters, now. I am no longer in my own time, and for some reason, I ended up here. I suspect you can speak both my language and the strange one they speak here?" It sounded as though this man expected Malik to speak fluent Japanese and whichever language he spoke.

"And if I do? You haven't given me any explanation as to how you're here," Malik argued, struggling to push himself into a sitting position so he could glare at the thief, only feet away at the edge of the bed.

"I told you that I have no understanding of how or why I'm here." Bakura's lips curled into a sneer as he leaned over the bed, resting his hands on either side of Malik's body, and effectively closing the distance between them. Malik's heartbeat quickened, the realization that this was the same man he had dreamed about, night after night after night, for weeks on end, dawning on him; the thief seemed to sense this, his sneer morphing into a smirk. "You know, I've been watching you for some time, now…"

Had he been in a different situation, Malik would have commented about how much of a stalker whoever said that sounded like. But, as luck would have it, he was now face-to-face with the man who haunted his dreams with such intensity.

"You're not real," he growled, the thief's face only inches from his own. "A figment of my imagination."

Bakura's smirk grew. "A figment, hm? Do you have a theory to back that up?"

"My sister has the gift of foresight. She would have warned me, if you were real."

The thief gave a short bark of laughter, eyes gleaming. "Without the Tauk, she is useless." He crawled onto the bed and further over Malik; Malik was forced down onto his back once more, the only way to escape Bakura's advances toward him. Now, the thief was leaning over him, grinning wolfishly. "Not so talkative, now, are you."

Malik's eyes narrowed once again. "Don't insult my sister!" he hissed, jerking his face away as the thief's grin widened and he moved closer. A calloused hand reached to slide across Malik's face, and he growled viciously. "Listen… _you_. I don't know what the hell you want with me, but leave. Right this instant."

Bakura smirked wickedly. "You have no authority over me, weakling." Despite the way he spoke to Malik, Bakura knew he had withstood hardships in his life, and didn't appear weak – a brief glance at the boy's toned arms told him as much. There was something captivating about those enchanting violet eyes, hair the colour of pale sunshine, and alluring lips drawn into a scowl (directed at Bakura, no less).

Bakura's hand slid down Malik's chest slowly, as Malik regarded him, glaring venomously as the wandering hand slipped beneath his black shirt (Bakura had had enough of the clothing teasing him with just a glimpse of the tanned skin underneath). His face was only close to Malik's, lips only a breath's distance away; their eyes were locked together, glassy blue on exotic lavender.

Malik forgot his anger as a thumb brushed across his nipple lightly.

"Ahn," he breathed, eyes still focused intently on Bakura's as the other smirked, noticing the way Malik's lips parted ever so slightly – begging to be kissed, nipped, sucked.

"I don't suppose anyone ever told you how tempting you are." Bakura's lips twisted into a smirk, Malik still staring at him, entranced by his eyes. "Mm, better show you what I mean, then."

Without another word, Bakura leaned in, capturing Malik's lips in a fierce kiss, growling softly; Malik blinked a few times, before realizing it was _happening_ – the shadow-thief from his dreams was actually kissing him, and—

"Shirt. Off."

Before Malik could even respond to the kiss (as much as he already loathed Bakura), those warm lips disappeared; Malik's eyes flicked open as the thief yanked his shirt off roughly, wasting no time as he claimed Malik's lips in a hungry kiss once more, tossing the shirt aside. This time, Malik _did _have time to deepen the kiss, groaning sharply as the hand returning to his skin, stroking and teasing his stomach.

All of it felt so unbelievably real – the heated skin pressed against his own, hand caressing (now sliding down to toy with a clothed thigh), hot breath against Malik's lips.

Bakura was, most definitely, not a part of his imagination (unless Malik was gifted with mental masturbation).

"Mmn…" Soon enough, the Egyptian beneath Bakura was moaning at the touches, the thief's hands roaming across his body as he pulled back from the kiss; with a possessive growl, his lips slid down to the boy's neck, nipping and sucking at his skin with the hunger of a man starved of a meal.

Malik pushed himself up a bit, angling his head so his lips collided with Bakura's in a bruising kiss, low snarls and growls emitted from both of them. Malik's body was upheld slightly, his elbows beneath him propping him up as one of Bakura's hands slid down his neck, shoulder, and then back.

Malik gave a loud protest as the kiss was broken and he was flipped onto his stomach without warning, the frowning thief straddling his waist, hands tracing the deep, precise scars engraved into Malik's otherwise flawless skin.

Bakura's lips twisted up into a half-amused smirk, the hieroglyphs as clear as day to him. "Pharaoh's memories," he whispered into Malik's ear, kissing the skin below his ear lightly, before trailing down slowly. Malik's eyes slipped shut; Bakura's lips glided down to his shoulders, moving along his marred skin with an almost worshipful touch. "You may be of use to me, yet." He chuckled, rolling Malik over again, pinning the boy down on his back.

Once again, Malik was staring into entrancing eyes, almost unaware his khakis were being pulled off; they never broke eye contact, and Malik felt his self-control waning quickly under the spell of the thief.

"Remember my name?" Bakura whispered against Malik's skin, smirking broadly as he slid a hand down, stroking the boy's thigh before tugging it up around his waist. Malik drew in a sharp breath, nodding. "Good. You'll be screaming it in a number of minutes."

Their lips met in another deep, hungry kiss; the remainder of their clothing went flying, discarded on the other side of the room. The Ring came off, carefully placed alongside Malik's bed on the dresser, before they were, once again, entangled between the sheets.

Low hisses of pleasure could be heard if one listened hard enough; silver flashed against gold, tanned skin slid against bronzed, fingers entwined together. Shadows flickered against their skin, binding their wrists and ankles together in a rough, age-old rhythm; silver strands threaded about their forms, twisting and reaching a star-dusted sky as one.

--

"Mmpf…" Malik rolled over, pulling the blankets snug around his body. He was dozing lightly, hair dishevelled and sheets ruffled; any evidence of the night's events were long gone – including the thief. Not a trace of clothing, scent, or strand of hair was left in Bakura's wake.

Malik soon began rousing from his slumber, yawning languidly as he stared at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded. Then, memories from the previous night came flooding back to him – brief flashes of silver, possessive snarls against his ear and kisses rough enough to shake him to his very core.

"Eh!" Malik sat up quickly at that, staring around his room for any sign of the thief. "Bakura?" he questioned after a moment of hesitance, but he didn't receive a reply.

Malik took a moment to pause, yanking the sheets up to inspect beneath: He was naked, and there was obvious proof that _something_ unholy had occurred on Malik's bed last night. He tried asking for the man again; like the previous time, there was no dark laughter, or teasing smirk ready to kiss him breathless.

Malik sank down against the pillows, utterly confused. He _felt_ better than he had in a while (probably due to sexual tension), but there was nothing to suggest there had ever been a silver-haired fiend in his room last night – much less one having _sex _with him. He glanced at the mirror; his flaxen-gold hair was stiff with dried perspiration, and his kohl from several days ago was smudged around his eyes, giving him a smoky look. All in all, it was an effect that clearly read: 'I was ravaged!'

…but the door was open…

"Malik?" A calm voice interrupted his thoughts, and Isis peered into the room. Malik immediately drew the sheets up around his waist, blinking at his sister. "Good morning, brother," she said, smiling at him and stepping into the room.

"Is something wrong?" Malik questioned, suspiciously eyeing his elder sister – Isis rarely paid him visits in the morning, considering he had developed the habit of sleeping until noon. "Did Mai run out of make-up? Because she's not using my kohl aga—"

"Malik, hush!" Isis said sharply, her smile disappearing, replaced by a frown. Malik and Mai frequently took the chance to insult one another around Isis, particularly when the other wasn't around. "I just came to see if you wanted breakfast. Rishid's on his day off," she added, tone clipped.

Malik faltered a bit under his sister's disapproving look, though he looked interested at the mention of Rishid.

"He's back? I need to talk with him, so—can I get dressed, please?" he asked, and Isis stared hard at her brother, before folding her arms lightly.

"Were there noises coming from your room, last night?"

Malik froze, the glare he'd fixed on Isis vanishing; he looked mildly uncomfortable. "Uh—what noises?" He kept his tone as light as possible, trying to keep from looking perturbed, but he could already feel beads of sweat forming on his brow.

Isis shrugged, gazing at Malik with careful eyes. "It sounded like you were having a… very _vivid _dream," she said, head tilted slightly.

"I think you were hearing things," Malik said shortly, waving a hand toward Isis dismissively. He pulled up the covers a bit more, glaring pointedly. "Can I get _dressed_, now?"

Isis rolled her eyes. She'd promised Mai she'd be back in a few minutes, anyway; the girl had little patience to begin with. "I'll make you some breakfast," she said, before turning and moving out of the room, closing the door with a soft _click_ behind her.

"Damn woman. Always so nos—" Malik's eyes widened as he stared at the back of his door in disbelief.

There, hanging on the handle, was a golden bracelet embedded with rubies.

---

**A/N: **All done. X3; Any reviews would be really appreciated; constructive criticism in particular - I'm always looking to grow as a writer, and I felt as though the characterization in this was a bit off. XD; Anyway, longest fic I've ever written. Reviews get me off my lazy ass and urge me to write. ;3


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